


a place to start

by rredhoods



Series: we can only get brighter [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Heroes in Crisis (DCU Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M, also a hic fix-it, read as: kesh fixes rebirth, rhato 25 fix-it babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 10:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rredhoods/pseuds/rredhoods
Summary: in which jason todd stumbles, falls, and gets back up again with some help.





	a place to start

_Did somebody else define me?_  
_Can I put the past behind me?_  
_Do I even have a decision_  
_Feeling like I'm living in a story already written_  
_Am I part of a vision made by somebody else?_  
_Pointing fingers at villains but I'm the villain myself_  

When it rains in Gotham, it pours. When it rains in Gotham, the worst in people comes out, fuelled by the toxic waters and the oily darkness that envelops the city. 

It's a night like this where things go horribly wrong for the two of them, as they always do.

A brutal beatdown, broken words spoken into the darkness of the night after an explosion lights up the sky for but a moment. Blood soaking the grimy floors, their hands, his chest; it’s everywhere, on everything, a shade away from looking like tacky paint.

There is the telltale sound of fabric ripping echoing through the night. A symbol, gone. A son, condemned.

An explosion rocks the foundation of the building they stand on, but he can't see through the blood in his eyes. Everything burns, aches, and somewhere inside of him, a Robin dies yet again at the hands of the man who had sworn to protect him.

Searching hands, lifting him up. The warmth of a friend, a lover, his missing half, burning away the chill of the frigid November air.

“I got you, buddy.” 

* * *

They spends months together, secluded on their little beach and the spaceship from what seems like a lifetime ago.

It takes time, a lot of it, but they mend what they have between each other. There is a raw wealth of hurt, a gnawing ache since they’d separated a long time ago. Two halves of a whole, broken and jagged, that barely fit together anymore.

And yet...they still _fit_. The months apart hadn’t been enough to tear them apart, hadn’t been enough to send them out of each other’s orbit.

It will _always_ be Red Hood and Arsenal, no matter the time, place, or age.

There are apologies whispered under a moonlit sky, a kiss that mends the wound and erases time. The return of whatever flame had been lit between them; a rebirth, a continuation, delving back into the unknown.

Together.

Jason smiles, and for the first time in a long time, it is genuine.

* * *

Time passes and they are content, It’s almost scary, how easy all of this comes to them.

Days turn to weeks, and then to months. Still, it’s so _easy_ to stay and love Roy, to live in this piece of life they have carved out for themselves.

There is a ring, a promise made in the tangled sheets of their bed, vows exchanged.

They are happy.

Of course, it doesn’t last.

* * *

When Roy asks Jason to come with him to the secret location meant to help heroes who are suffering, Jason hesitates. They’re in bed, all tangled limbs trapped by silk sheets, and Roy’s fingers are combing through his curled locks.

“C’mon, darling,” Roy murmurs, skin glowing under the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Jason still can’t believe this is real, can’t believe Roy is here with him following such a thorough exile at the hands of Batman. “We can get the help we need together, yeah?”

Jason’s tempted to say no. He wants to go back to vigilantism, to carve a name for himself without the legacy of the Bat hindering his actions and holding him back from his true calling. The Lazarus in his veins cries for vengeance, for blood, for him to go back out there and beat his name back into the world with a crowbar.

But Roy is looking at him with those too-soft eyes, a half-smile on his face and his body tucked right into Jason’s. They’re slotted together like two puzzle pieces, star-crossed lovers cradling each other in the warm patch of sunlight. It’s something out of a fairy tale, a dream come to life meant to keep him alive.

How can he say no to more of this? How can he say no to Roy, the only one who has ever made Jason want to live?

So he doesn’t.

“I’ll come with you,” Jason says, and Roy lights up like the fucking sun.

* * *

Something about the quaint little house sets Jason’s blood on fire the minute they step through the threshold. Though Roy is enamoured with the country-style lodgings, he isn’t oblivious to his fiancee’s unease.

“Something wrong, Jaybird?” He asks, lacing their fingers together. There’s a slew of heroes already here, most notably Wally West, who spares them a glance and a strained smile Jason doesn’t bother to return.

There’s no time to make friends, if his gut instincts are anything to go by.

He considers the possibility of cameras; after a moment of deliberation, he tugs Roy into his arms and presses his lips against the shell of the redhead’s ear in an exaggerated show of public affection, their go-to con when undercover.

“I don’t trust this place,” Jason murmurs, making sure to make a show of it. He nips at the lobe, running his tongue over the small hurt. Roy offers him a shiver, but the tension in his body tells Jason he’s listening raptly. “Something seems...off.”

Roy breaks away and brings their mouths together, whispering his response into the exhale. “Really? The Supers set this place up...You think they have a mole?”

The good thing about being Jason Todd is he learnt a long time ago not to trust the superhero community; trusting them will only guarantee hurt, or mistakes, or even death. Just because they’re involved doesn’t mean they’re safe...probably the exact opposite, if he’s being honest.

“Stay alert,” Jason says, pulling away. “Stay with me.”

Roy offers him a crooked smile. “When have I ever left?”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it?

* * *

It begins in the dead of night, with the sound of a single gunshot.

Jason pounces off the bed, startled into action; Roy follows just a beat later, hitting the floor and grabbing his bow from under the bed.

“Fuck,” Roy glances up at his partner wildly. “Where was it?”

Jason is grabbing the spare gun he had smuggled in, clicking the safety off and moving towards the door, eyes sparked green. “South-west corridor, single shot, no screams. Who’s in there?”

“Not sure, I don’t have floor plans or anything,” Roy pauses, frowning. “I don’t think any of us do, now that I think about it.”

“Fucking hell, Harper, you didn’t ask for anything?” Jason all but snaps, the sudden tension short-circuiting his brain; all he can hear is they’ve been set up, they’re going to have to fight, they should’ve stayed home.

(They’re going to lose, they’re going to die, he’s going to lose Roy all over again.)

“You know, Jaybird, when we’re sharing a last name, how am I gonna know I’m in trouble?”

Unbelievable. Jason throws the archer an incredulous look, torn between amusement and genuine annoyance, but the blinding smile Roy sends him erases any thought of anger. He loves this man, flaws and all, and Roy loves him right back. It’ll be enough to keep them alive, an intangible force stronger than anything that can be thrown at them.

Love, he thinks, is the closest human beings will ever come to immortality.

“You get in trouble after we tie the knot and I’ll just kiss the air from your lungs, only to leave you hanging,” Jason shoots back, smug in the face of Roy’s surprise. This banter comes naturally, fits him like a glove, and Jason wonders for the umpteeth time how he had given it up willingly.

Their good mood lasts all but a few seconds before the severity of the situation sets in: the Sanctuary has been compromised, and someone may be dead.

“Outside contacts?” Jason asks, voice soft. He’s already reaching for the emergency trigger he’s kept on himself since the day he’s left her side; in all truthfulness, if Roy hasn’t shown up in Gotham after the beating, he probably would’ve used it.

Talia would’ve brought Hell with her, but Jason would’ve been safe with her. Cared for. Loved.

“Just Dinah,” Roy mumbles, already pulling out a burner phone and calling the one number saved on it. “She’ll know what it means, if I’m calling her from this phone; she’ll come running.”

“Talia’ll bring the League, or the best of them at the very least,” Jason informs him, and together, they slowly inch the door open. Always together, two parts of a whole; it’s how they have functioned best, from the day they had met and onwards, never to be questioned. Especially not now, moving down the hallway with years of experience keeping them silent on their feet.

Roy throws Jason a look, fingers tightened on the string of his bow, and the sound of another gunshot has them moving faster.

It sounds closer to them. Too close for comfort.

Another shot; it goes flying right next to Roy’s ear, drawing a curse from the redhead. Reinforcements can’t get here quickly enough, and they will be on their own against God knows how many assailants until they do.

Roy watches Jason begin to run in front of him, all lethal prowess and fluidity. This man is a hunter, molded by the hands of the Demon’s Heiress in this life, and the hands of Batman himself in the last.

Jason Todd is one of the most capable fighters on the planet, and Roy is honoured to have him at his side, despite what the superhero community thinks of him. So what if he didn’t follow Batman’s rules?

Batman’s a bastard, anyways, and most definitely _not_ invited to the wedding.  

Jason, meanwhile, is racing the length of the corridor with his gun cocked and glowing eyes drawn to the shadows at the end of the hallway. There, tucked into the inky blackness—

Another shot. It hits him in the shoulder.

Three more rounds.

Jason snarls, a near inhuman thing, and lunges forward, fingers snagging on cloth as he reaches out with his own gun, pulling the trigger and falling, falling, _falling_ —

Another shot; this one misses, instead burying itself in the wall behind his head. Jason takes the shooter to the ground, all fury and Lazarus-gifted strength, and then they are rolling across the sleek hardwood. He ignores the lingering pain in his ribs, phantom wounds from his fight with Bruce weeks ago.

Two rounds.

“You...who are you?” The voice beneath him asks, and Jason wastes no time in pistol whipping them with his gun. He can’t tell if it’s a familiar voice, or even a possible gender, but there’s no time to try and work it out.

Lightning flashes around them, and Jason doesn’t question it. Another gunshot. It nails him in the bicep, but he can barely feel it over the Pit madness that is threatening to take over. Ever since his fight with Batman, the seal he keeps over the insane fury has weakened to the point where his eyes have reverted to a murky green, sparked with iridescent flicks of neon.

One round.

Somewhere behind him, Roy is yelling, but he can barely hear him; no other heroes have entered the corridor, and Jason grapples for control with the figure on the floor. Arrows are flying, it’s a mess of noise, and all Jason can think about is whether or not there are other assailants in the building. They’ve fought their way out of sticky situations before, but Jason would prefer not to, not when the love of his life is standing right behind him, angry and tense and vulnerable.

The last bullet is fired.

Jason barely manages to duck out of the way, the bullet grazing his ear on its way to the ceiling. With a pained grunt, he finally manages to pin the shooter down using the weight of his hips, flipping his gun over in his fingers and pressing the barrel against the forehead of the would-be killer.

“Who are you?” Jason snarls, caution thrown to the wind.

“Jason Todd,” the man under him sneers, ceasing to resist. Jason doesn’t take it as a good sign. “Humph. Out of all the things I planned for... _you_ weren’t on that list. In fact, you stopped being relevant eons ago in my time.”

_What?_

“A speedster,” Roy spits, coming to stand over them. “Of _course_. You really thought you could just walk in here and get away with slaughtering a bunch of capes?”

There’s a pit of acid beginning to form in Jason’s gut; he doesn’t like where any of this is going, and he finds himself idly wondering how far out Talia and her men are.

“Please,” the man snorts. “I planned for everything except for _him_. He is nothing, in my timeline. Dead at the hands of the Joker and _stayed_ dead, as he should’ve in this one...if it weren’t for the fact the universe buckled all those years ago, I would’ve succeeded today.”

_I was a fool for ever believing in you._

Jason’s ears are ringing.

“If it weren’t for Jason Todd,” the speedster continues, venomous. His form begins to flicker, sparks of coloured lightning spitting into the air. “The entire hero community would be mourning right about now.”

They are quiet; the words and their severity sink in. Jason being here has saved God knows how many lives, stopped a tragedy cold in its tracks before it could derail an entire community of heroes. The complete opposite of what Batman had all but said.

Outside, there is a thump; they all recognize it as the sound of someone landing. A superhero that can fly, and that narrows down the list of possibilities to one individual.

“But maybe this is for the best,” the unnamed speedster continues, a sinister smile on his face. Jason and Roy had been distracted by the newcomer, but the ominous words have them tensing again. “Perhaps you weren’t meant to live in this universe, either.”

And then, he is gone.

Jason is left to hit the floor with a resounding thud, startling Roy into movement; but there is nowhere to look. The speedster is simply... _gone_. As if he had never been there. The only evidence of his existence were the bullet holes in the walls.

“Wh…” Roy is gaping at the empty space, momentarily stunned. Whoever is outside is coming closer, albeit not making any noise, but they are too focused on their lack of a guilty party. “Well. That’s going to be hard to explain.”

Jason climbs to his feet, gun still in his hands; the green in his eyes has finally begun to dim. “A speedster, huh? Wonder what he wanted. Looking back on it, he kinda sounded like—”

“Roy?”

They both turn towards the new voice, surprised to see Superman standing in the doorway, a grave look in his eyes. There is exactly one heartbeat of peace, where Superman’s eyes soften with palpable relief at the sight of the archer alive and well, before he notices Jason and all hell begins to breaks loose.

“Red Hood,” Superman glares, eyes turning angry, glowing red. Momentarily, Jason forgets he’s not technically supposed to be there, and is offended by the knee-jerk defensiveness. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited him, Clark,” Roy interrupts immediately, an edge to his voice. He steps forward to lace his fingers together with Jason, a silent show of solidarity and a silent command for Clark to back the hell off. The Kryptonian’s eyes are immediately drawn to their hands, a brief flicker of surprise appearing. “Newly engaged and all that...you know how it is! Batman probably knows how it is too, even if it ended badly.”

That last jab is meant for Jason, and it works; the former vigilante huffs a quiet laugh, bumping his hip into Roy in a gesture of gratitude.

“Congratulations,” Superman says, tone muted. “I...I didn’t know. How long have you two been…?”

“Eh, couple years,” Roy shrugs, offering a dangerous grin. Their relationship isn’t something they publicized, but rather something born of comfort and tender moments stolen in the dark. It’s the way they complete each other, make each other stronger, and neither of them particularly cared if nobody else wanted to see it.

“A couple of…” Superman trails off, obviously thrown by the lengthiness of their relationship. They’re used to it, by now, but it’s still amusing to see the unflappable hero floundering for words. “Oh. Wow. Okay.”

“Have you taken a look at the rest of the place yet? Any casualties?” Jason interrupts, voice gruff. Roy remembers why, exactly, Clark is here, and immediately sobers up. Clark follows suit.

“Yes...Wally West is dead.” Superman lowers his eyes for a moment, and the impact sinks in. Roy’s knees buckle, and if it weren’t for Jason holding him up, he would’ve hit the ground for sure. “Single gunshot wound to the head.”

The only other speedster here, killed by a speedster? Jason and Roy exchange a startled look. In their line of work, coincidences are hard to come by, and this...this is something too big to be a coincidence.

Superman opens his mouth to say something else, but cocks his head to the side, as if listening to something in the distance. As the noise grows louder, it becomes obvious that it is the sound of a jet landing, right outside the building.

“Who is that?” He asks the two in front of them, a slight frown on his face. “That doesn’t sound like Batman’s jet.”

“Talia,” Jason says, surpassing Superman and heading in the direction of the door. Her timely arrival brings about a great wave of relief, even if he doesn’t admit it, and the sooner he can be away from Superman the better.

 _Especially_ if Batman is on his way.

“Talia...Al Ghul?” Superman gapes, casting Jason’s retreating back an incredulous look before rounding to face Roy. The archer offers him a lopsided grin. “ _Al Ghul_?”

“Jaybird has some interesting parents, that’s for sure,” Roy shrugs, internally glad that someone who didn’t view Jason as a villain (or something close to it) has arrived. He has no illusions about the power he holds; Talia has him beat in that department by leaps and bounds, and Jason deserves someone like that in his corner as _well_ as Roy right now.

Talia can and will protect Jason from the scrutiny of the Justice League, if it comes down to that. He isn’t oblivious to the tensions that will arise once the rest of the capes get there, because Clark, in context, is probably the tamest.

The others won’t ask questions before attacking.

As they descend the front porch steps, Roy can see Talia exiting her plane and moving towards Jason, all feline tension and feminine curves. She looks just as impressive as the last time Roy saw her, something out of an old myth; a warrior queen, maybe. The heiress grabs Jason by his shoulders, evidently unimpressed by the blood and yet still worried.

Some idle part of Roy had been wondering how Talia had gotten to Sanctuary so fast, but seeing the way she is holding Jason, it becomes clear: this is her son, and she would crawl to the ends of earth to ensure his safety.

If Jason ever calls, she would come running, proverbial guns drawn and claws out.

“This is so weird,” Clark mumbles, also observing the reunion between mother and son. “And quite disconcerting, if I’m being honest, I never knew Talia and the Red Hood were on such good terms. Should we be worried?”

“Whatever you think Jason is, Clark, I suggest you stop thinking it before I shove an arrow up your ass for it,” the sharp retort is reflexive, draws a surprised apology from Clark, but it does little to soothe the sudden anger. Roy hates the convoluted image of Jason most of the superhero community shares, even his own friends, his family. Batman has taken Jason’s name, his story, and turned it into a reminder: follow orders, or pay the price.

Jason has been turned into so dark a stain on everyone’s memory that they fail to see the very alive, breathing human who exists inside the darkness. They fail to see the fact that he isn’t dead, isn’t buried, isn’t Robin.

Hell, they fail to see him as _human_.

Meanwhile, Jason is standing in Talia’s embrace, a half-smile on his face. He is barely surprised at how fast she has arrived, or over the fact that she has brought only the best of the League; hell, he would even say he’s not surprised at all.

This is Talia, and the world bends to her will.

“Absolutely reckless,” she is chastising him, voice a touch angry. “Putting yourself at the complete mercy of the hero community? I did not raise a fool, Jason, these rash decisions are below you.”

He shrugs. He knows, to some extent, that she is right, but...he knows the archer would never knowingly get them into trouble. “I trust Roy with my life.”

“Ah, the lover,” Shiva descends from the plane, her voice dry. Her eyes are focused on Jason with a hyper-intensity he’s never seen from the woman outside of combat before, and it’s jarring. And underneath the steel...is it relief? “We all do stupid things for love.”

“Indeed,” Talia cuts her off with a look that Jason is too tired to decipher. That’s a problem for future-Jason. “We all succumb to the selfish whims of those we love from time to time. All but you, of course.”

“Ah,” Shiva says, and Jason blinks at her confusedly at the tone of her voice. She has a sharp smile on her face, brittle and dangerous. “I’ve never done anything in the name of love, you say? Hm...maybe so.”

“A conversation for a different day, perhaps,” Talia inclines her head towards where Roy and Superman are standing, a meaningful look on her face. In the darkness, it’s hard to make out the small tells Jason can usually use to determine the Heiress’ mood, and it frustrates him to see this conversation go over his head like this. There’s a string of secrets embedded in the backhanded comments and it kills him not to know what they are.

“Superman,” Talia greets, once they are close enough to do so. Roy comes down the stairs to stand next to Jason, a meaningful look on his face, and Jason shrugs in response. No, he doesn’t know what Talia wants to say, as unlikely as it sounds.

“Talia,” the caped boy scout responds, terse. Jason knows there’s no love loss between the superhero and his maternal figure, but the tone still has his hackles rising, fingers inching towards his gun. It’s only Talia subtle nod that keeps him from pulling it from its holster, and the aggressiveness of his body language doesn’t go unnoticed by Roy, who is seemingly unperturbed by the whole exchange if his grin is anything to go by.

“I’m assuming you’d like to know what a member of the League of Assassins is doing here?” She asks wryly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “If the way you’re glaring is anything to go by?”

“Am I correct to assume you came at Red Hood’s call?” Superman asks, gesturing towards the man in question. Jason raises his brows at the use of his vigilante name, despite the fact that he’s in nothing more than sweats and a t-shirt, no helmet in sight.

Well. Some people just can’t separate the man from the career, so to speak; he doesn’t particular care what the Metropolis resident thinks of him.

“Indeed,” Talia intones. “Jason set off the emergency trigger I gave him and I tracked the GPS signal here. The threat is either gone or taken care of, I presume?”

Superman opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the telltale sounds of another jet approaches catches all their attention. Jason freezes up, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms in an attempt to keep his calm.

Roy shoots him a worried glance, and even Talia spares him a second, but nobody can look away from the large aircraft landing in the distance.

The Justice League piles out, weapons drawn and faces tense.

Batman leads them towards the house.

It’s obvious the man doesn’t register Talia, or Shiva, or even Clark and Roy or the scattered members of the League of Assassins. He only has eyes for Jason.

Angry eyes, filled with venom.

All Jason can do is make sure he doesn’t take a step backwards, in direct fire of all that anger.

“Talia,” is the first thing that comes out of Batman’s mouth. “Arsenal. Superman.”

A pause.

“Red Hood.”

Jason bares his teeth at the man, a manic energy erupting through his veins as his instincts begin to scream. At the back of his mind, he can vaguely recognize the fluid ferocity, but in the face of such danger all he can think about is a rainy night atop the roofs of Gotham, blood-slicked gloves ripping the Bat off his chest.

Before anyone else can speak, Dinah brushes past the gathered heroes and pulls Roy into a fierce hug, murmur soft nothings into his hair as he gently reassures her that he’s okay. Jason watches them fondly for but a moment before Dinah yanks him into the embrace, forcing a yelp through his lungs.

The Leaguers watch the proceedings with varying looks of surprise, aggravation, and disdain; the three of them pay them no mind.

“Batman. One casualty...Wally. He’s dead,” Superman manages to say, ignoring the trio, lowering his eyes as he’s forced to convey the loss.

“How?” Batman asks, amid the shock, and Jason can recognize the all business tone, can tell the man is finally not focusing on him but rather the mystery at hand.

“Single gunshot wound to the head.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Gunshot wound?” Batman asks, and there’s a slowness to his words, almost as if he’s processing what’s being told, piecing things together with what little he’s been given. But when you’re Batman, usually that _is_ enough.

Superman nods.

Batman walks closer, closer, even closer, until he’s standing right in front of Jason, so close he can see the blue of Bruce’s irises through the whiteout lenses. All he can think about is how he’s basically unarmed, how there’s nothing to physically protect him from Bruce except for a standard gun that wouldn’t even dent the armour the older man is wearing.

(But Talia is there, he knows, and he knows pigs will fly before she lets Batman get away with even _touching_ him.)

“Hood,” Batman, Bruce Wayne, the man who was once his father, says. “Did you shoot Wally?”

It takes but a second for the question to register among the people standing in the valley, and with it comes shocked breaths and a quiet, disbelieving curse from Talia. Roy steps forward, face lined with fury, but Jason’s grip on his sleeve stops him from grabbing onto Batman and stabbing him in the throat with an arrow.

He is startling calm, for someone accused of murdering a superhero.

“Are you asking me if I killed Wally and compromised this whole setup?” Jason asks, voice devoid of any emotion. He is looking Batman in the eye, and the tension around them thickens to something palpable. “I’m just clarifying.”

“I won’t ask again,” Batman says, and Talia’s snarl of disgust is loud and echoing and damning all in one breath.

Jason...Jason feels the ice-cold rage wash through him at once, the world tinted neon green and his blood on fire, a direct contrast to the chill settling over his mind. All he can hear is Bruce telling him he never should’ve believed in him, Bruce beating him within an inch of his life, Bruce throwing him out of Gotham.

Something, deep in his chest, snaps for the umpteenth time.

The cold-blooded fury, so achingly similar to the pain of being brought back to life, to choking on dirt and rocks and hope, it lights a path straight through him. Jason is snarling, he thinks, fingers gripping the cold steel of his gun so tightly that it begins to bend; all his instincts are on fire, all pain and vengeance.

“Jason,” Roy is whispering, voice hoarse due to terror. Not for himself, but for the love of his life; there is no guarantee that Jason can hear him, this far gone, suddenly this entangled in the Lazarus’ grasp, bright and green and fury. “Jaybird, come back to me.”

Jason is all tremors and heat. Roy doesn’t relent.

“Jason, _come back to me_.”

There is little to no response to that, but when Jason glances at Roy, there’s an obvious flicker of recognition in his eyes, and he grasps onto it with barely concealed hope.

Jason is in there, somewhere, lost underneath the waves of the Lazarus Pit. But he’s _there_.

“This is ridiculous,” one of the heroes mutters, but it is loud enough for all to hear. Roy thinks it’s Hal. “Doesn’t this mean he’s guilty? Case closed?”

Talia snarls under her breath and shoves Batman away, stepping closer to the two boys, one quiet and the other begging. She has had enough of this foolish game the Justice League intends on playing.

“Jason,” she says, voice achingly clear. She has seen her boy like this before, years ago in a safe house tucked into the depths of Mexico. When he had first seen pictures of Batman and his third Robin, Timothy, when he had learned the Joker still breathed. “Enough of this.”

His body begins to still, an immediate response to Talia’s words. Roy watches on, breathless.

“Come back to us, and prove to these useless _vermin_ that their leader is blindsided by his own, personal agenda.”

Somehow, _miraculously_ , it is the thought of proving the heroes wrong that brings him back down to Earth, flushes away the eerie green and leaves behind a tired man. Jason.

“Why should we take his word for it?” Wonder Woman asks, brow crinkling. She doesn’t understand the unease on Clark’s face, or the pained fury on Dinah’s.  “Batman has deemed the Red Hood a criminal.”

“Use the Lasso, if that’ll be enough to convince you,” Dinah snaps, crossing her arms angrily. What she is seeing is absolutely disgusting, and quite the showing from the world’s mightiest heroes. “And then I _fully_ expect you all to be ashamed of yourselves.

Uncertain, Diana steps forward, holding the thick coils of golden rope in her hands. Jason is still vibrating in the arms of his mother and his lover, staring up at her with eyes so bright they hurt to look at.

(She remembers those eyes, from a lifetime ago.)

Perhaps it’s the guilt.

She loops the lasso around Jason’s broad form, cataloguing the impossible amount of heat pouring off his body, before tightening the rope and taking a step back. “Red Hood, did you kill Wally?”

“No, I didn’t kill Wally West, or compromise your sanctuary,” Jason snarls, pure fury. Out of the corner of her eye, Diana sees Bruce flinch; he has miscalculated, and will now pay dearly for it. “And while we’re at it, this whole set up? Was a _horrible_ idea.”

Superman frowns. “Now, Jason, I understand you’re angry but that’s not fair. We were trying to help.”

Jason is too far gone now to stop himself from carrying on his tirade against the Trinity. “What makes you think you assholes get the final say on who deserves help and who doesn’t? What makes you _better_? Both Superman and Wonder Woman are complacent in the way Batman treats his fucking _children_. Oh, excuse me, his children when it’s convenient for him and when he needs an ego boost or a charity case or someone to fucking pity him. Let’s take Batman for an example, shall we? If this was still really about saving people, _the Joker would be six feet under_!”

Absolute silence. Nobody dares to speak, but Jason isn’t finished.

“No, Batman, this isn’t about saving people for you anymore...this is a sick, twisted coping mechanism. It’s your misunderstanding of Gotham, your broken methods, your lack of accountability, and your stupid fucking _love story_ with the Joker. That comes above all else, _including_ Gotham! So pardon me if I think _you_ three aren’t the best judges of character; maybe try again when your leader isn’t emotionally compromised all the fucking time.”

Diana takes the lasso off of him with shaking fingers. The silence continues, but interestingly enough, nobody can look at him anymore. 

Talia has a hand on his bicep, is pulling him away, is murmuring softly in his ear; praise, he thinks, but he can’t hear her over the roar of waves crashing against rocky walls in his mind. Bruce can’t look him in the eye.

Without another word, Jason walks off in the direction of Talia’s jet, hand in hand with Roy, shoulder to shoulder with Talia.

He doesn’t look back once.

* * *

Time goes on, after that; the speedster strikes again, but this time it is the Justice League that apprehends him. There are no hiccups much to Jason’s displeasure; he’s selfish, for wanting mistakes—holes—in the heroes’ work, but selfishness has been bred into his core. A cold world had taught him to take before he is forced to give.

And god, has he given. His love, his trust, his life. All for nothing but a tattered uniform in a glass case, locked in the darkness with all the memories.

* * *

Her name is Lian Harper, and they both absolutely adore her.

* * *

Alfred comes to visit them, one cloudy day in Fall.

He’s absolutely delighted by the tiny baby Jason is holding when he opens the door, if the tears in the old man’s eyes are anything to go by. Jason himself is on the verge of crying, his grandfather a sight for sore eyes.

“Oh, my boy,” Alfred says, as soon as their situated in the living room. Lian is now in his arms, happily gurgling and enjoying the spike in attention being paid to her. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Jason can offer him a soft smile, tentative, vulnerable, _childish_. The grief between them is much kinder than that between Jason and Bruce, and Jason knows...he knows if he had gone to Alfred, all those years ago, and asked the man to kill the Joker, the pasty bastard would be dead.

But how much Alfred loved him has never been the question; Jason knows the answer is unconditionally.

“I’ve missed you too, Alfie,” he finally manages to say, keeping his eyes on Lian like a damn coward. He isn’t a stranger to the fact that his deeds over the years have probably hurt the man next to him just as much as Bruce, if not more. “Sorry I don’t...visit. I haven’t been to Gotham in, uh, months.”

“Don’t apologize for taking care of yourself,” Alfred interjects, tone firm. It jolts courage into Jason’s bones. “I won’t be having it. If Gotham causes you pain, Jason, then you have no obligation to come to her.”

He has nothing to say to that, so he offers an uncertain smile and settles further back into the couch. They make idle chit chat for a while, Alfred listening intently to Jason’s many stories involving Roy, Lian, or both, and Jason grinning along to stories of Duke and Cass’ exploits, much to everyone else’s ire.

Neither of them bring up Bruce.

As the hours wear on, they end up migrating to the kitchen, where, after placing Lian into her seat, the duo begin to make a quick dinner. Jason has missed this, the relative ease with someone from Gotham; it’s not something he has had in a long, long time. Longer than he cares to admit, and for a moment he’s thrown backwards in time to a similar scene, of a much younger version of himself helping a smiling Alfred in the kitchen of the manor.

“..ason? Master Jason?”

Startled, Jason flinches before turning his bright-eyed attention back to Alfred, who’s watching him with tender eyes. Immediately he can tell the old man knows exactly what he’d been thinking of, years of watching over the crop of batkids sharpening his skills to the point of perfection.

“It’s quite alright, my boy,” Alfred says, warmly. “To think about the past fondly.”

It’s here where he cracks.

“Most days I wish I’d never been brought back,” Jason admits. “If only so you could keep all the happy memories and none of the bad. As much as I think the others deserve it...you never did, Alfie.”

Alfred sets down the knife he’s holding.

“Is that what you think my opinion of you is?” The butler asks after a whole minute of silence. “Nothing but a bad memory? A stain?”

It’s too close to what Jason is sure Bruce thinks of him, searching fingers plunging into a still-open wound. He can’t hide the shame or the fear before Alfred picks up on it, tutting in disapproval.

“Master Jason, my sweet boy,” Alfred begins, and Jason hates to see the tears sparkling in the corners of his grandfather’s eyes, hates knowing he put them there. “You are _my_ grandson, no matter where you have been and what you have done. You are still a child who is hurting on his _best_ days, and feels God knows what on your worst. This family...this godforsaken family hasn’t been there for you, for any of it. For that I...I sincerely apologize, my boy, but never for one _second_ think that I look at you, in this life or any, as a burden. Never. _Never_.”

Jason falls into Alfred’s embrace, all mumbled apologies and tears. His words heal a wound so deep that Jason had been resigned to letting fester for the rest of his life, no matter how long it may be. A wound split open by an errant batarang and a damning decision, and reopened time and time again.

To have it close…

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, into the soft cashmere of Alfred’s sweater. It feels loving. It feels like home. “Thank you.”

“This anger poisons you,” Alfred murmurs, as gentle as he can. As if he’s talking to a wounded animal. “It hurts you more than it hurts him, Master Jason. His own self-loathing keeps him in the dark, far from any self-realization, and similarly your rage keeps you bound to your past. Try and relieve it, if only for your sake. Never his.”

Jason has nothing to say to that, such a subtle plead that he’s half in mind to let it go over his head. So he remains silent, remains a child in his grandfather’s embrace a moment longer, before he pulls away and gestures to the unfinished status of their dinner.

Alfred shakes his head, smiles, and lets it go.

* * *

The Dark Knight Falls, is what the newspaper headline says. Jason is on edge the whole day, torn between smug satisfaction and childlike fear, until he gets a text from Alfred saying ‘ _he’s okay._ ’

He hates himself for worrying.

He hates Bruce more for _making_ him worry.

But maybe, just maybe…

He hates the silence the most.

* * *

He wakes up one morning to two missed calls, and a few text messages, all from Bruce.

He sees the words "can we talk, please?"  
  
He leaves them unanswered.

* * *

He meets with Talia out by the water, illuminated by the dying sun.

She looks like a goddess, he thinks as he approaches her from her right. Talia’s focus is entirely focused on the ocean, too lost in her thoughts to properly register Jason’s arrival. He’s well aware of how much she has to trust someone to let her guard down like this, so fully.

“You wanted to see me?” He says, in place of any greeting. They’re beyond the stiff awkwardness, instead settled into a familiar routine of gentle ribbing and double meanings. He enjoys the time they spend together, grateful that Talia goes out of her way to come and visit.

“How are things?” She asks, finally turning to face him. There’s something of a gentle smile on her face and Jason returns the gesture, stepping into his place next to her and turning to face the calm waters.

“Good,” he begins, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm breeze. The moments right before nightfall are the softest, offering a tranquility that Jason has only ever found when he is with Roy. “Lian is beginning to teeth, but the kid is taking it like a champ. Roy and Oliver patched things up, so he and Lian are gone for the weekend.”

“Ah,” Talia tilts her head towards him. “You’re not visiting family?”

The subtle jab stings.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” He retorts, trying his hardest not to sound like a petulant child. He’s beyond that senseless stubbornness, had been weaned off of his default anger by none other than the woman standing before him.

“I am,” Talia relents, something soft in her normally sharp eyes. She always treasures the instances where he refers to her as family, Jason knows, and this is no exception. “Jason, may I tell you a story?”

Well. That’s an abrupt change of pace.

Uncertainty wracking his brain, Jason nods, turning fully to face the Heiress. She’s still looking out over the ocean, her dark skin dappled with sunlight, and silence reigns for a few minutes.

“Back before I put you in the Pit, I used to take you out for walks in the gardens at sundown, hoping the atmosphere may help you in some way,” she finally begins, voice quiet. “And it did, to a certain extent. You liked the walks, I’d like to think, it helped you calm down in a way nothing else could. It was...during one of these walks that you said your one and only word before the Lazarus Pit.”

Jason frowns at that. “You said I never said anything before you put me in the Pit.”

Talia gives him a sad smile at that, an expression he’s never really seen on her face before. With it comes a strange bout of nausea; Jason knows whatever she says next is bound to upset him. “I never told you because I knew...especially where you were, with coming to terms with your Father’s shortcomings, it would’ve done more harm than good.”

“Talia…”

“Your first and only word, in that deathly state of yours when nothing else would compute...it was dad, my son.”

The breath in his lungs leaves in one, fell swoop; the suddenness of it all has him stumbling backwards, tripping over himself, landing in the sand. Talia watches on, equal parts impassive and sympathetic.

“Why...why are you telling me this now?” He manages to ask, voice hoarse.

“Your anger is righteous. You should be angry, for what was done to you and what wasn’t done for you,” Talia kneels next to him, reaching out to cup the back of his head and pull him into her embrace. Jason melts into it like he always had, but there’s a tremor working through him that neither of them can ignore. “But you are _hurting_ yourself, sweet boy. This rage inside of you is rotting you from inside out, it’s a burden too heavy for you to carry. It pains me to see you wasting away so quietly, unseen to all but your lover and myself.”

Alfred had said something similar, hadn’t he? A cycle of pain, both of them unwilling to break it in fear of the unknown. Death comes in more ways than one, he knows, and heartache...is the worst death of them all.

“Give your father one more chance,” Talia cautions, and they are painted by the light of the dying sun, all shades of reds and oranges and yellows. Not fire, not blood, but something softer. Something more beautiful. “If not for yourself, for me. Do not let your anger get the best of you, and make sure his anger does not get the best of him, either. _Talk_ , as I should’ve advised you years ago...a mistake on my part that I have to ask you for forgiveness for.”

“Never!” Jason interrupts, fierce. He grabs her free hand and brings to close, placing it over his chest directly where his heart is. “Never apologize for saving my life, Talia. I owe you everything.”

She smiles at him then, a full thing of beauty; a mother’s smile. “Then repay your debt by visiting your father, one last time. We will hope for the best; who knows, he may yet surprise you.”

* * *

It’s raining, the day he decides to go back to Gotham.

He walks through the empty manor, a ghost of a son, a fallen soldier, a man half-dead. Alfred has emptied out the house for him, some promise of family bonding time to get the others out of the house. Now only one man remains, deep down below in a cave tucked away from the world.

Jason takes the stairs one at a time, content with being unseen for as long as he can manage. Bruce is at the computers, back to the staircase, rumpled cape thrown over the chair.

“Alfred? I thought you were going out?”

Jason stalls here; some part of him will never be ready for this conversation, but the other part of him...he’s tired, of all this. He’s a son, who misses his father with something fierce; yes, they’ve fought, but at the end of the day, Jason knows he loves Bruce. He knows he wants to fix this.

They stand on a bridge that, try as they might, is fireproof.

“Hey, old man,” he finally settles on, leaning against the bannister to make himself feel more comfortable. It doesn’t help, but he enjoys pretending it does.

Any other day, the speed in which Bruce whips around would be absolutely hilarious, even more so the way he almost falls on his ass. He’s staring at Jason as if he’s seeing a ghost for the first time, and maybe he is, as disappointing as that sounds, but Jason’s throat is dry and his palms are sweaty and he’s not there to pick a fight.

“Jason?” Bruce says, and Jason can almost _choke_ on the barely restrained hope in the man’s voice. They’ve made so many mistakes, spilt so much blood over the years, but…

This man in front of him, undoubtedly, without a hint of suspicion—

“Dad,” Jason says, and his voice breaks with the weight of tragedy; a phantom pain strikes up within him, the lingering memory of a night from months ago. There is no wind up, no anger, just a tired boy and his truth. “It hurt.”

Jason doesn’t have to specify, he knows, because Bruce is already breaking under the admission, the normally stoic man approaching him with reddened eyes and a parted mouth. His hands tremble, almost with the remembrance of the strength of the punches, the hard-knuckled hits that left Jason bloodied and afraid.

They become monsters in the dark, under their cowls and helmets, shadows hiding who they are when the capes are off. Monsters who cannot differentiate family from villain, friend from foe.

But there is light, now; there is determination, and there is a proverbial white flag hanging above them. Two men who want to _fix_ things.

“Jay,” Bruce says, and there’s something desperate hidden in the single syllable, a bloom of emotion he doesn’t dare categorize. The tremors worsen. “Jason.”

It’s been months since the Sanctuary crisis, months since bitter accusations flew and damage had been dealt. And yet, somehow, here they stand, orbiting around each other in quiet melancholy.

Like they always do.

Like they always will.

Jason tilts his head, eyes burning with something fierce already. There’s so much between the two of them; they’ve managed to write a shakespearean tragedy over the years, complete with family drama, blood, and betrayals. But here they are, searching for a happy epilogue. “Um...you tried. You reached out so I...I figured I should do the same, after a little push from certain parties. But there’s so much to unpack between us that it almost seems impossible, huh?”

The lines of Bruce’s mouth tighten, a flash of something familiar and dark in his eyes. “Not if we want it bad enough. And I _do_ , Jason, what I did...it was and is inexcusable. I don’t even know where to begin with...with us. With what I did to you.”

That’s the bottom line, at the end of the day; the ground they stand on is stained with years and years of bloodshed, tears, and rainwater. Dark and muddy, just like the city they protect, just like their past. All their mistakes.

“Try,” Jason all but begs, teetering on the edge of something new. His heartbeat stutters, painfully, erratically. “For me.”

Bruce looks at him then, _really_ looks at him, drinking in the height and the weight Jason’s put on since he’d come back from the dead. Sees not the child he died as, but the man he has come to be.

And there is pride, Jason thinks, in the way Bruce smiles at him. A look so tender it has Jason’s heart clenching painfully, mind flashing back to his days as Robin, memories of a sun-dappled dining table, a family of three, _happiness_.   

“I’m so sorry that I could never give you what you wanted,” Bruce begins, voice soft. “It was never about how much I loved _you_ but...it was about what Batman was to _me_. And I should’ve told you that. That batarang...it should’ve never been thrown. I think that’s what...started us on this path.”

Oh, Jason remembers that, in vivid detail. A desperate choice made in the heat of the moment, a batarang cutting through the night, and a burning walk home in the rain. The scar on his throat aches; Bruce’s eyes flicker to it for a second, and Jason can see the absolute self-loathing in his father’s irises.

“The Joker...has always been my blindspot,” Bruce admits, as though it pains him. And it does hurt him, Jason knows, to say what they have all been thinking for so long. “When it comes to him, I’ve always thought...that his existence justifies Batman. That I needed the Joker to feel valid in what I do and I...that’s not true.”

Silence for a heartbeat, two, three.

“I know it’s not true because what really makes Batman worth it is the fact that I got to meet you kids.”

Here, Jason gapes; out of everything, he’s picking them? Batman has given Bruce many things, he knows, from friends to purpose to a legacy, and for him to choose _them_ over all of _that_...

Bruce offers a strained smile at the sight of incredulity, tinged with affection. “Hard to believe, considering what a shit father I’ve been, huh? But...it’s the truth. It’s no excuse for how I treated you, but nonetheless...I thought maybe hearing it would...”

Jason shrugs, helpless in the face of such brute honesty. It’s nothing he hasn’t known but truth be told, hearing it out loud is much different from telling himself. “I get it, old man. I just...I wish I was enough.”

“You were!” Bruce is quick to rebuttal, voice harsh. His sudden yell echoes through the cavern, startles Jason into moving. “You were, you are, and you always _will_ be. I should’ve never let you think otherwise.”

“I thought it was a trap,” he blurts out, all of a sudden. It surprises Bruce into silence. “When I woke up inside the coffin.”

Bruce opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again in confusion, in anger. “Talia kept you inside a _coffin_?”

And now Jason is in the one confused, thoughts racing, as he tries to figure out what the fuck Bruce means by Talia keeping him inside a coffin—

Oh.

Oh, _no_.

A new wave of horror washes over him, weakening his knees and nearly sending him to the ground. All these years, and he’s never...Jason’s never…

They’ve never talked, like this. Always avoided the elephant in the room, no matter how big it got, and now they’re paying for it.

“Dad,” and in his mortification, Jason lets the word slip out again. It jolts Bruce into action, the older man moving forward to grab Jason’s shoulders as he begins to sway on his feet. “What...how do you think I was brought back to life?”

Bruce stares at him, thrown by the line of questioning. “The Lazarus Pit?”

_So many mistakes._

Jason isn’t sure how to soften the blow, how to word the truth, and instead...he tells Bruce how it is. “Bruce, I woke up in my coffin, not the Pit. I, ah...I was still injured from the Joker’s beating and I hadn’t realized I’d _died_ so I...climbed out and started coming home. And then um...I got hit by a car? And ended up comatose for a while? Then I was out on the streets, which is where Talia found me and took me in.”

Bruce is still staring at him, but there’s a slow creeping horror in his eyes, taking over his expression, his body, his thoughts. He isn’t the World’s Greatest Detective for nothing, and it’s beginning to show.

“Jason,” Bruce whispers, and it’s uncharacteristically emotional. Jason can understand, he thinks; he knows the pain of missed opportunities, the crushing weight of mistakes unknown. “You were in Gotham?”

“Yeah,” he admits, even if he knows it might cost them, might set them back years. “For a year, before Talia came for me.”

“Oh, God,” Bruce’s voice is faint, and he stumbles backwards, hands outstretched and reaching for any sort of surface to grab onto. Jason lets him go, pity painting his features; the man has to come to terms with it on his own, he knows. There is no way Jason can help him process it. “Oh, _God_ …”

The old man manages to find his way to his seat, crumpling into it and putting his face into his hands. The mood in the room shifts dramatically, from a shaky understanding to bone-deep sorrow, and Jason isn’t quite sure how to go about it.

“Bruce...I…” Jason trails off, hand lifting and falling back to his side. How do you console a grieving father who has just found out his son had slipped through his fingers in the way Jason had? 365 nights, Jason had wandered the streets Bruce so diligently protects. 365 nights for a chance encounter that fate did not gift them with. 365 nights for a father to be given back his son.

“I could’ve had you home,” Bruce says, and there’s a raw hurt in his voice that Jason has _never_ heard before. “You could’ve...I could’ve had you _home_.”

There’s only one thing, really, that Jason can say to that—

“I’m home now.”

Bruce freezes. Jason flushes crimson. The world comes to a standstill.

Bruce stands.

The Dark Knight stands and approaches him, and suddenly Jason is reminded of their fight on the rooftop, where Bruce had beaten him within an inch of his life, and he’s _scared_ of what may be coming, could happen—

“I missed you,” and this is Batman, one of the greatest heroes in the history of the universe, with tears in his eyes and a telltale tremor in his bones. This is Bruce, a man with a touch of gray at his temples, his heart in the right place, and a father to a flock of kids who love him despite everything. This is the man who pulled Jason from the streets and a sure death into his home, his heart, his legacy; this is the man who gave Jason everything.

This is his father.

“I missed you too, B,” Jason chokes out, and they’re hugging, a tight embrace and a feeling of coming home cloaking them in warmth and security. This is the end of the wartorn path they had been travelling on ever since Jason came back to Gotham a changed man, and the beginning of something new.

He stays there, in his father’s embrace, the weight on his chest gone and a sense of closure in his heart.

* * *

Time is, he thinks, an odd thing.

It can heal you; your wounds, your mind, your heart. He knows this personally, knows time healed what the Joker had done to him. Time had given him the chance to fix things with Roy, to find the path they were meant to walk together, has given him a daughter in the form of Lian Harper.

But time...time also has a destructive nature that is unparalleled by no other force in the universe. It can corrode the bonds between father and son, brother and brother, lover and lover.

Jason knows this. He has suffered through it all.

And yet...he still wants to try. Wants to overcome the tragedy he is, wants to become something better. A son. A husband. A father.

Maybe he’s a fool, for hoping beyond everything that has been done to him. But maybe Jason is too strong for the world to keep down, too loving, too kind, too hopeful.

Time extends a helping hand.

He decides to take it.

So Jason Todd loves himself, and he loves himself enough to let time heal him.

* * *

He meets with Bruce from time to time, between wedding plans, to have some food and just...talk. For all the years they didn’t. It heals the bond between them, the time together; Jason has never felt closer to the man he calls Dad.

It’s in a dingy Gotham diner that Bruce gives him a nervous look and says “I have something for you. If you’ll accept it, of course, which you don’t have to do.”

Jason takes an obnoxious slurp of his milkshake, raising his eyebrows at Bruce over the rim. His father gives him a deadpan look that lasts all but a few seconds before they dissipate into a round of snickers.

Every smile, every laugh...Jason feels a piece of himself returning from a grave somewhere in the distant Gotham fields.

“I’ll only accept it if it’s a set of keys to the Batmobile,” Jason raises the glass into the air, tipping it in Bruce’s direction.

“I love that car more than all of you, why in God’s name would I give _you_ a set of keys, chum? When you were the one who took it for a joyride and nearly totalled the thing?” Bruce asks, nonchalantly.

Jason groans, putout. “It was _literally_ a lifetime ago, old man. When are you gonna let it go?”

Bruce laughs, then; it’s a full-body sound, and Jason relishes it, relishes that he can bring this out of the stoic crusader. “I’ll let it go when you stop asking for a set of keys.”

Jason gives him a subtly sinister look. “You and I both know all I have to do is say the magic words and I’ll have a set of keys ASAP.”

That sobers his father right up.

“Jason…” he says warningly. “What have I said about abusing your power?”

“But, Dad,” he says, dragging out the syllables. Bruce gives him a long-suffering look, even as his eyes begin to sparkle. They’ve come so far, from their days of bloodshed and angst; it’s hardly believable. “Can’t I have a set of keys? Please?”

It’s a true and tested theory that they were all aware of: Bruce, without fail, crumbles to Jason’s every demand if it’s coupled with the liberal use of the word ‘Dad’. It’s both endearing and incredibly dangerous, considering Jason is unpredictable with his requests; they can range from charity donations to doling out punishment to his siblings.

Jason’s very glad Talia gave him the lesson of self-control, because it seems to be one Bruce skipped out on.

“...Fine. You can have a set of keys,” Bruce says, closing his eyes. Defeated, once again.

Jason practically beams. Just last year he hadn’t known how to smile, on the tail-end of losing everything.

“Will you let me speak now?” Bruce asks dryly, picking up a fry to mask his genuine nervousness. Jason makes a motion with his hand, and Bruce huffs out a breath; some things never change, even through years of bloodshed and anguish.

“There’s a, ah...Wayne family tradition,” Bruce begins, once he’s done chewing on his food. “A set of family rings, meant to go to the first Wayne of the next generation that’s getting married. And seeing how that’s you...I was wondering if you would...would like the rings.”

Jason, in a rare moment of true shock, is stunned into silence, which Bruce takes as rejection and hastens to reassure the boy.

“It’s okay if you already have rings! Or if someone else already provided them, I know I’m making my offer late but I just...I couldn’t not offer them to you. You’re my son, this is your birthright, but if you don’t want them or if...if it’s too soon...it’s okay, Jason, you don’t have to take them. I just wanted to put the offer on the table.”

Some part of Jason hates that he can reduce the great Caped Crusader to this insecure mess, hates the power he has over Bruce. His past self would be gleeful, would be glad to dig into the still-bleeding wounds and twist until his fingers were covered in gore, but now…

Jason reaches across the table and tentatively grabs onto his father’s hand. Now it is Bruce’s turn to be shocked into compliance, and all Jason can do is offer him a shaky smile.

“Dad,” he says, and there’s a lifetime of emotion in his voice. Somehow he knows this is where his past life and his current life intertwine, back into one destiny, one fate, one person. No longer is he a before and after, but rather...he’s just Jason. Jason Todd. Once Robin, now Red Hood, son of Bruce Wayne, son of Talia al Ghul. “I love you. I’d be honoured.”

* * *

In the end, Talia walks him down the aisle. There’s something poetic about it all, seeing how she had been the one to bring him back into this life; it’s only fair she be the one to hand him off to his next.

It’s a quiet affair, complete with their closest family members on the beach where the two of them have built a life together. Kori and Donna have strung fairy lights across the treetops, casting an opulent glow across the golden sands. Beyond the horizon, the sun is beginning to set, setting fire to the seas and warming the air and offering light to the setup.

Talia is holding his hand, just as she did all those years ago in a garden tucked into the secluded haven of Nanda Parbat. He and Roy had flipped a coin to see who walks out first, and the honour was granted to Jason; thus, he walks towards an empty podium, Kori floating behind it in preparation.

On his way down, he sees Alfred and the select batkids that had been invited to the wedding. Cass and Steph both have tears in their eyes, hands laced together and flowers woven into their hair. Duke and Damian are standing with them, a smile on the former’s face and a peaceful look gracing the features of the youngest.

With them are Kate and Renee, both with matching grins on their faces, wedding bands shining even in the darkness. Their love was always like that; a shining beacon in a sea of darkness. He remembers wanting something like that, in the darkest moments of his Lazarus rage, something equally bright and precious.

And now he has it.  

Jason manages a content smile; he loves them, he thinks. It’s a different kind of love from what he feels for Roy, for Kori and Artemis and Bizarro...it’s a comforting kind of love. A kind of love he knows will never fade, no matter the circumstances, forged in the flames of a dark city and under the solidarity of a cape and cowl. It isn’t the all-consuming fire that he feels for Roy, or the light that his friends bring him, but rather a well-worn blanket that protects him in his worst moments.

Alfred catches his eye; his grandfather is crying. Jason nearly strays off the path to go and console him, but Talia’s grip reminds him of where exactly he is. Comforting Alfred can wait until after the ceremony, even if every instinct in his body screams otherwise. Besides, he knows those are happy tears.  

And standing next to Alfred…

Bruce offers him a shaky smile full of tender affection as their eyes meet, caught between wanting to move closer and staying where he is. Jason nods at him once, still smiling, still arm in arm with Talia, and they silently pass by the Bats on their way to the altar.

As they approach, Connor moves onto the walkway with Lian’s hand held in his own, Kyle Rayner trailing behind him, all smiles. Their little girl has a familiar, worn box in her free hand, and a bright smile on her face.

“Jayjay!” She squeals, and it brings a warm smile to his face. “Dress!”

He kneels down in front of her and laughs when she launches herself into his arms, a mess of tulle and creamy lace and giggles. The wedding ending up after Lian had learnt to walk was a blessing in disguise, because the girl could stand with them on the altar now.

And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

“She’s very excited to be ring bearer,” Connor informs them, a huge smile on his face as he watches Jason rise with Lian safely tucked into his arms. Kyle has his arm wrapped around Roy's brother, and gives Jason a knowing grin. “If that’s not blatantly obvious.”

Lian shakes the box she’s holding in response.

“Our little girl is as spirited as she is intelligent,” Jason grins proudly, bouncing said child in his arms. She squeals in excitement, and the sound warms his heart.

“She gets it from this side of the family,” Oliver Queen pipes up from somewhere behind Connor. It had been quite the week, when he and Roy had been patching things up; if Jason had seen Queen even once more beyond the dozens of unannounced visits when he and Roy were busy…

So God help _him_.

“Hopefully the only thing she gets from you is her archery skills, Queen.”

Oh. Uh oh.

Jason glances over his shoulder to see Bruce suddenly standing there, and he _recognizes_ the look on his face. It’s one he’s worn himself, multiple times, most of them talking to Oliver as well.

 _Jesus_. He’d gotten it from Bruce.

“Wayne,” Oliver shoots the man a fake smile.

“Queen,” Bruce offers with equal disdain.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Jason interrupts. There’s only a few minutes before Roy will appear. “You two are _not_ duking it out at my wedding. The reception? Fine, we need entertainment anyways, but right now? I’ll shoot both of you. And then throw you _out_. And when Roy asks where our fathers are, I’ll be glad to tell him why I had to kick them out.”

And, surprisingly, that makes them shut up.

“Jason,” Talia calls for him, and they all turn in her direction. Eyebrow raised, she gestures to the podium, and he sheepishly takes his place. Ribbing the two fathers would have to wait until everything was over.

He settles onto his designated place on the left side of the podium, his attention half on Lian and half on the doorway of the spaceship that Roy should be coming out of soon, arm in arm with Dinah. Reuniting with their fathers had been a thing of the present, but their mothers…

Talia has seen the worst of him, in the same way Dinah has seen the worst of Roy. And both of them had never left, never wavered in their determination, never doubted them. And for that…

Loyalty like that is priceless; Jason will be Talia’s until the day he dies again, and he knows it’s the same type of sentiment between Dinah and Roy. It’s not as suffocating as one would think it to be in theory, and Jason is comfortable in his place.

He would go to war, for this family he calls his.

The doors slide open, and out step Roy and Dinah wearing matching smiles and matching outfits. Jason begins to smile so wide his cheeks hurt, his face unused to the emotion; it’s a thought that, on any other day, he’d find deplorable. But today…

Roy brings laughter into his life, and that is only one of the thousands of things. He couldn’t even begin to list them all.

The soft chatter of the crowd dies down as Roy moves closer and closer to where Jason stands, all nerves and sweaty palms. Never did he think he’d make it here, minutes away from being a married man. The last year...the last year has been something short of a rollercoaster, from being banned from Gotham to the Sanctuary to Lian to his reconciliation with the Bats.

Roy is mere steps from him now.

Jason is happy, he realizes. Happy that he’d gotten the chance to live again, and it’s a foreign feeling. One he isn’t used to. He’s happy he gets the chance to live with Roy, and Lian, and Talia and the Outlaws and the Bats.

Roy is in front of him now, all smiles and glassy eyes.

Jason smiles back.

The formal part of the ceremony passes by in what seems like a blur, all his attention focused on Roy and Lian. As far as he’s concerned, nothing and nobody exists outside the podium they stood on.

Then comes the time for their vows. As always, Roy takes the leap first.

“Nobody knows you the way I do,” Roy offers, and it comes with a carefree smile with no hidden meanings. Jason’s breath gets caught in his throat, eyes burning and mouth parting in surprise over just how much those words mean to him. “You don’t love easily, and it’s not something I take for granted. Thank you for loving me, Jason, and thank you for letting me call you mine. I love you.”

And as always, Jason leaps after him.

“Thank you for making me want to live again,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. He wants to cry, wants to stop there because nothing else he says will be as powerful as the words that just came out of his mouth. “Thank you for loving me when I felt unlovable, and thank you for all you’ve done for me throughout the years. Thank you for being my best friend, my soulmate, my confidant. I love you, Roy.”

Kori pronounces them husband and husband, and one kiss later, they are married. There isn’t a dry eye in the crowd; here, enveloped by the cheers and claps of their families and friends, they are at the pinnacle of joy.

Jason Harper-Todd is happy, and he knows someday it’ll stop being a foreign emotion.

He finally wants to wait for that day.

 _'Cause I'm tired of the fear that I can't control this_  
_I'm tired of feeling like every next step's hopeless_  
_I'm tired of being scared what I build might break apart_  
_I don't want to know the end, all I want is a place to start_

**Author's Note:**

> here it is...my very long, very winded love letter to the lgbt jason stan server!! I love you guys sm I hope this healed all wounds caused by that hot garbage we’re forced to call heroes in crisis :-) this project started back when hic #1 dropped and has been my greatest enemy ever since....i hope you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> and YES there is a sequel >:3 and possibly a third fic AND a spin-off so...leave your comments and thoughts and requests down below!


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